‘Cosmorama’ by Kemar Cummings

Beyond the skies is universal eternity.
Nebulous ghosts of dust float around
In the black hole of space. A night profound
As death itself, as life in its old infancy,
Contains a trillion grains of stars inside a galaxy
Where suns (beyond the reach of sight or sound)
Flare as comets streak fire in their earthbound
Career. Their lightnings flash out of cold infinity.
Bound by deep azure Atlantic waves,
The tropical beach, Everest’s cloud-snowed peak
And the green plains of grass that richly grow,
This world where the play of silver streams laves
Cliffs is one with the cosmic dark mystique
That binds the universe in its lunar glow.

Tell the world:

One Response

The Mystic Mountain, a star-forming region in
Carina Nebula, a Hubble-capture pic,
looks like a strange Doctor Seuss creature reaching in
the cookie jar, past star and cosmic cloud, slick sneak.
It is bizarre, but part of our universe,
the dust and gases rising, climbing thin and thick,
its tall three-light-year pillar being worn for worse
by radiation of each nearby stellar force.
It’s like a giant bean stalk planted from Jack’s purse,
that grOws and gROWs and GROWS, though no one knows its course,
onward, outward, continuing its burgeoning,
a deconstructed, discombobulated horse
in orange, violet, and brown, touched golden, white and pink,
that’s galloping across th’ eternal plains of space.